


In the blink of an eye

by a_belladonna



Category: Tintin (Comics), Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Flight 714 to Sydney, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, One Shot, Smut, Tattoos, The Red Sea Sharks, Tintin just wanted to sleep, romance sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:20:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24962191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_belladonna/pseuds/a_belladonna
Summary: Who would have thought having your plane shot down would turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to you?
Relationships: Archibald Haddock/Piotr Szut
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-read by Delphi - thank you so much! Any remaining errors are mine.  
> If any Estonian-speakers read this story: sorry if there are any mistakes, I've done my utmost to look up words and phrases.  
> 

If there was something Piotr Szut ought to have learned by now, it was that things could change in the blink of, well, an eye.

One moment he was sent off to strafe a boat somewhere in the Red Sea. The next he had been catapulted out of his plane into the sea and was beginning to feel the sneaking fear that he’d end up in the belly of a shark, when he was dragged onto a raft by the very people he’d just tried to kill.  
A kind but somewhat reserved youth with old eyes, and a choleric sea captain.

It didn't surprise him in the least to learn that it was the boy who'd shot his Mosquito down. The eyes gave him away.  
What did surprise him, however, was his own reaction to getting to know the captain.  
Of course the man had shouted at him at first. He couldn't really blame him – it _was_ his fault they were on that raft. The man had shouted very loud, and very fast, in French and he'd only understood half of the words, but the intention behind those words were clear.  
But then it was like the air had cleared a bit and he got a slightly closer look at the man.  
He was tall and broad-shouldered. His hair and beard were black and his eyes were blue, almost like the sea, which was fitting for a sailor, actually.  
And, like the sea, his temper could change rapidly, from calm to angry, from sad to happy. But he didn't seem to hold anything against Szut.  
And, it turned out later, he was very competent at commanding a ship when it came to that.

But before all of that, he'd removed his sweater to use it as a makeshift flag, and it was only later, lying in a bunk aboard the marquis' yacht between really nice, freshly laundered sheets, that Szut had time to recall that the torso under that blue sweater had been, well, not bad to look at at all.  
Quite the contrary.  
The aforementioned shoulders had indeed been broad, the waist narrow, the arms somewhat muscular.  
He shifted onto his side and wondered what it would feel like to be pressed against that body, slipping his fingers under that undershirt, one hand trailing up to the chest and nipples, the other downwards, down under the waistband, into the captain's underwear. He could easily imagine the feel of the chest hair under his fingertips, as well as combing his fingers through the other man's bush to get to his cock and stroke him until he came. He could also readily imagine how the beard would feel against his neck as the captain leaned against him, and the imagined sensations alone had sent a shiver down his spine.  
It was ages since he'd last let himself think anything in that direction and it almost immediately resulted in a throbbing erection tenting the (also very nice) pyjamas he'd been lent.  
Thankfully he managed to find a handkerchief in one of the pockets of his pilot jacket so he could take care of things. Of course, he could have soiled the sheets, but that felt very ungrateful in the moment.  
But was the object of his desire even interested in other men? He was unsure. The captain felt hard to read in that regard. The boy, less so. He pinged loud and clear, yet seemed strangely, innocently oblivious about it. 

Then everything was over. The marquis, who wasn't a marquis, drowned, the Africans didn't get sold into slavery, the captain and the boy had to give statements and the press was pulling at them in all directions, and he himself slipped quietly out of the picture.

*

Some months later he somehow managed to be hired by Laszlo Carreidas. He wasn't sure how that came to be, but he was. The man was stingy, temperamental, eccentric and capricious. But good heavens, he knew how to construct air planes that were a joy to fly and the pay was after all good enough that Szut suddenly found himself with an apartment in Brussels, of all places. A tiny one, but a home that wasn't a random military barrack or dingy hotel room somewhere.

And it was one day there he that found out it hadn't been totally coincidental that "the boy and the captain" had ended up on a raft in the Red Sea. The boy was actually kind of famous and had somehow made several reports from all over the world. It would explain the old eyes, he thought, as he looked at the row of books bearing the boy's name as well as his image. China during the Japanese occupation. San Theodoros. Syldavia. The Moon(!)

A year later he was at the airport preparing to fly Mr. Carreidas to the US. On his way through the terminal he caught a glimpse of a magazine lying forgotten on a table and stopped dead in his tracks. On the cover was a picture of the captain, in a wheelchair, and a tall, imposing lady pushing said wheelchair.  
"The Milanese Nightingale Will Marry Old Sea Lion" the headline screamed. He felt his insides clench painfully. Of course. He'd been looking for an answer, and there it was. The captain preferred women, and was set to marry. He'd seen that woman before, hadn't he?  
Then he remembered how she'd approached them when they boarded the yacht in the Red Sea and how she'd descended on the captain. It all made sense, actually, and he'd been foolish to hope for anything. The captain was a handsome man, and, as he could see as he leafed through the magazine, the owner of a castle, even. So wealthy to boot. Of course he'd marry a celebrated opera singer. Wasn't that what the rich and handsome did?  
He tried reading the text. From what he could figure out (why was there such a big difference between spoken French and written French, he wondered) they'd met at a flower show. An odd place to go for a straight man, he thought. But, there it was, in plain text. They would marry. Oh, well. It had been fun to think about him as long as it lasted, he told himself as he put the magazine back on the table and continued on his way.

*

And then, a couple of months later, he suddenly found himself with his arms full of said captain, in the Jakarta airport. He had indeed felt very nice and muscular, however brief the contact had been. Again everything had happened very fast. Suddenly the captain, the professor and Tintin had been invited aboard the Carreidas 160 to Sydney and everything was going as planned on the flight, until...

_darkness_

His sense of smell returned before any other sense and for a fleeting, terrifying moment he thought he was back in _that_ hospital. He couldn't see, he couldn't move, but he could smell disinfectant and he could hear the voices of the nurses. He flailed and gasped and opened his eye...to find out he was in a much more modern hospital setting. The nurse who was looking at him appeared South-east Asian, and the beeping he could hear was from a machine monitoring his heartbeat. The sun was shining outside, the air was warm and humid and he was lying in a hospital bed.  
He looked around and could see other people in beds. Right next to him, he could recognise the captain. The next bed contained Tintin, obvious with the tuft of reddish-blond hair sticking up. The two other beds against the opposite wall were more tricky but it looked like Gino and the professor. The last bed was empty.

"Wh-where am I?" he asked the nurse.

"You're at the Central Hospital in Jakarta," the nurse answered. "You were found in a life boat several hours ago and brought here."

A doctor came over and began checking him.  
"But...but where is Mr. Carreidas?" he asked "And his assistant? The rest of the crew?"  
The nurse and doctor exchanged a glance.

"Well, Mr. Carreidas has already woken up, but had to be transferred to a single bed ward," the doctor said. "He didn't, er, take kindly to find himself in a ward with several other people there. As for the assistant and the rest of the crew, there's sadly not a trace. They weren't in the life boat," the doctor added.

They weren't in the life boat.

It slowly sank in.  
Something must have gone terribly wrong along the flight and they didn't make it. He screwed his eye shut and tried his best to remember, but no matter how hard he tried to recall anything past giving the coordinates around Sumbawa, there was just a black hole. Just nothingness.  
He'd experienced it before.  
When he was shot down and lost his eye, he didn't actually remember anything between seeing the enemy air plane approaching and waking up on a table in a farmhouse, his face covered in blood, so shocked he barely felt the pain until later, having been dragged there by the navigator (who'd suffered a broken arm) and a farmer who happened to be nearby. 

This was worse, though.  
Three people had died on his watch. To be fair, Colombani and Boehm had both seemed a little dodgy in the short time he'd known them, but still they deserved better than a watery grave somewhere in the Indonesian sea.  
Spalding had hired him, after all, and even though the Englishman had always seemed to look down his nose at him, he'd been his employer's assistant.

As it was, it turned out that Mr. Carreidas was more upset over losing his hat than losing his assistant and air plane and didn't seem to harbour any grudges against Szut.

*

And so, again in a weird turn of events, he found himself at the same hotel in Sydney as Tintin and Haddock.  
He was sitting in the hotel bar with Haddock, watching Tintin go back to his room after bidding them both a good night.

"He has very long list of the adventures, Tintin," Szut said in an attempt to break the silence. "Especially for so young."

"Oh, yes, indeed. We others can just grab his coat tails and try to hang on for the ride," Haddock answered. "And try to make sure he gets home in one piece. When I first met him, he was more or less still just a skinny, little boy. And from what I've been able to piece together, it's not as if he's ever had many people in his life he could trust. You've noticed his dog, right? When I first met him, he'd carry on entire conversations with it."

"But now with a marriage, adventures might be over?" Szut suggested.  
Hadn't Haddock said so himself in Jakarta? That he was done with adventures?

The captain looked confused. "Marriage?! Tintin's not getting married. I'm not sure the boy's even aware of the concept."

Bravo, Piotr, he thought to himself. You just fucked up again. "No, Captain, I mean, you. I thought, some time ago, I heard..." he tried.

"Blistering barnacles, no! Over my dead body!" Haddock exclaimed. "Is it that confounded story about la Castafiore again? I'd rather swim across a piranha-filled South American river, covered in bloody steaks, than marry her!"

"Oh. Wrong person?"  
Urgh. Too bluntly put. Why was it so difficult to articulate anything in this language? It was either too long-winded or too straight forward and he always ended up sounding like a simpleton. The tenses, the overall grammar, it all just seemed designed to confuse.

"That's one way to say it, yes."

"I see. It's perhaps someone else you have eyes on? Is it...is it Tintin?"

Haddock stared back, and for a moment he feared he'd managed to destroy any chances that might have turned up tonight.  
"Tintin? No, he's not really for me, either," he finally said.

"Why not?"

Haddock scratched his beard a little. "It's as if some parts of him had to grow up very fast, leaving other parts of him very young still. The last thing he needs is someone old enough to be his father lusting after him."

He emptied his glass, then poured himself another drink and a refill for Szut before he could object.

"But enough of that. Let's toast to...er, to friendship! And to being here in Sydney. Or," he raised his glass, "should we say _na...zdaróvje_?"

Szut blinked a few times. "Captain, why do you toast in Russian language?"

Haddock lowered his arm a little, looking confused. "Er, I just thought...um, with your name being Piotr...isn't it common in Eastern Europe...I mean, Slavic names..."

Szut shrugged. "My father was Russian. But here," he said, gesturing to his heart, " _ma olen eestlane_. I'm Estonian," he added, as Haddock just stared. "We're closer to Finnish people, not Slavic people." He smiled and raised his glass, "So we say _terviseks_!"  
They emptied their glasses.

Szut looked around, trying to find another topic.  
It was warm in the bar, and the captain had rolled up his sleeves. A faded, blue tattoo was half visible at the top of his forearm.

"Oh, I see you really are old sea lion," he began, "Is it anchor?"

"Yes, I had it made when I first signed on, at 14. I thought it was appropriate, crossing the Atlantic Ocean and all. An older sailor did it, using ink and a needle. I tell you, it hurts less that way than with a gun."

"A gun?"

"A tattoo gun. Although, as you can see, it has faded quite a lot."

"So, you did have other tattoos?" It wasn't something that had really crossed Szut's mind before, but of course, sailors and tattoos. Of course the man would also have some. Thinking back, hadn't there been a glimpse of blueish markings on his arms and chest back then on the raft?

"I got my name, and that was years before finding out that my forefather had received a knighthood with the right to carry a coat of arms."

"Your name?" Szut felt confused.

"Aye, my name. The fish called aiglefin is _haddock_ in English. My friend Chester found it hilarious that I shared a name with a fish, so one drunken night I had a haddock tattooed. Good thing the tattooist was sober."

"Can I see?" He hadn't meant to ask that, but it kind of blurted out of him. Damn whisky.

"Thundering typhoons! Not here, you can't! Are you trying to get me locked up for indecent exposure?" Haddock answered, but although his voice was somewhat stern, his eyes weren't.

"You also have the mermaid somewhere?" Szut continued, feeling that since he was obviously digging his own grave, he apparently might as well carry on.

"No, not mer _maids_. They're not...really for me."

"Too much out of the fairy tale?"

The captain leaned closer to Szut. "Well, _fairies_ they ain't, you know."

Szut swallowed. The conversation had taken a turn he hadn't really anticipated or dared hope for. And did the captain's hand just brush against his leg under the table?

"So...so merman is different talk?"

There was a glint in the captain's eyes, a recognisable glint. "Definitely, most definitely."  
That hand against his leg was definitely not there by coincidence.

Haddock frowned a little when he realised the bottle was empty and tried to catch the bartender's attention. It shouldn't have been difficult; they were the only people left.  
" _Sorry, sir, but we're closing_ ," the bartender replied.

Szut suspected it might just be something he said to get rid of them, but he couldn't be sure. Instead he tried to divert Haddock before he began causing a scene.  
"Captain, it's not very cosy here, anyway. How about we did continue talk inside my room? Let's go."

Haddock got to his feet. "You're right, landlubber! If that technocratic teetotaller won't serve us, we might as well leave. Let's go!"

As they left the bar, he made a note to remember to ask the captain what a 'landlubber' actually was.

*

They never made it to Szut's room.  
Halfway down the corridor Szut found himself pressed against the wall, his arms around the captain's neck and shoulders, Haddock's hands on his hips, pulling him closer, kissing like their lives depended on it.  
The feeling of the beard against his lips and skin was indeed as shiver-inducing as he'd imagined, and he had to fight not to moan, especially as one hand gripped the front of his trousers as well, giving his growing erection a gentle squeeze.

"Captain, not here, not in hallway. What if people come?" he managed to whisper. It seemed most other people were asleep, but he nevertheless felt rather exposed out here in the hallway.

"You're right," Haddock whispered hoarsely. "Good thing you've got your back against my door."

Once inside, he wasted no time getting the captain out of that sweater. Running his hands over the strong neck, shoulders and arms he savoured the feeling of the muscles under his fingertips. Haddock was a bit shorter than him but somewhat more muscular, and there were indeed tattoos sprinkled all over his torso.  
He'd always been on the lanky side himself, and there was something thrilling about being with men who could easily lift him up, even if they were not as tall as him.  
Somewhere between the door and the bed, Szut's own shirt also disappeared. When they reached the bed, he felt himself pushed down onto it, his fly undone with Haddock pulling at his trousers. Szut eagerly lifted his hips to accomodate him.

Leaning back, resting on his elbows with his legs slightly spread, he met Haddock's hungry gaze.  
"Like what you see, Captain?" he asked, reaching down and touching himself.  
His own gaze drifted down towards the captain's crotch and the bulge straining against the fly.

Mirroring Szut's movements, Haddock too reached down and adjusted himself. "Oh, yes, indeed."

Szut got on his knees and pulled him down into a kiss, then began undoing his fly, pushing trousers and underwear down strong legs and admiring the cock jutting proudly from its nest of black curls.  
The cock felt warm and heavy in his hand as he gave it a few tentative strokes.

"So, you want my hand, my mouth or my ass?"  
He left out 'cock', not because he didn't like being the active but because tonight he wasn't in the mood for that. Oh, no, it had been far too long since he'd had a good fucking and the captain seemed like one who was up for that.  
Not breaking eye contact Szut took the cock in his mouth. All in all it had been far too long since anything, really.  
He liked being in this position, liked looking up and seeing his partner's face flushed with pleasure. It was intense, yes, but that was exactly the thrill of it. Of knowing that he, despite being on all fours, was the one on control. Haddock swallowed, his mouth dropping open a bit.  
Szut slid one hand up the captain's inner thigh, caressed the balls hanging heavily beneath the cock and gently grasped the base of it. He could feel his own arousal building as Haddock's legs stiffened a bit and his hips jerked.

They obviously both wanted things to speed up a bit. He shifted to a better position, to better be able to take more of the cock in his mouth, which broke the eye contact.  
Closing his eye he savoured the feeling of the cock sliding further in, filling his mouth and making breathing harder. He could feel spit running down his chin and moved a little faster. Then he moved his hand from the base of the cock up towards the captain's buttocks. It was a slightly precarious move but he wanted to test the waters. Oh. The captain didn't mind a bit of ass play. In fact, he moaned louder. Szut filed that information for later.  
His own cock was throbbing and he wanted to touch himself, yet was unable to do so, as he needed both hands to keep his balance.  
Judging by the groans coming from Haddock, he was doing all right. Especially as he felt the grip on the back of his head tighten, and the other man pulling away. 

"Hey, now, you also promised me your ass," Haddock panted. "That's not going to happen if you keep up like that."

In an instant he was once again on his back with the captain kissing him, hard. Moving down his neck and chest, Haddock paused at his nipples. _Kurat_ , he had forgot how sensitive those were! 

"Seems I found the right spot," the captain chuckled. Right spot indeed! The sensations shot straight to his cock and he tried to grab it again.  
"Ah ah, none of that. Not yet," Haddock muttered. Instead he kissed his way down Szut's stomach and abdomen until he reached his cock, and Szut nearly came just from the wet heat of Haddock's mouth and the feeling of the beard against his thighs and balls. He swallowed and tried to control his breathing while caressing the captain's neck and shoulders.  
A well-lubricated finger slipped inside him and he moaned. Of course the captain was prepared for the occasion. That was the good thing about sailors in his experience.  
One finger quickly became two and soon found _that_ spot, the one that made him whimper and beg for more.  
The captain let go of his cock and sat up, still fingering him, looking down at him.  
Two fingers became three, it stretched more, and he ground down on the fingers, fucking himself on them while knowing that Haddock took in the sight of him spread out, his legs wide apart, his breathing heavy. Szut arched his back, trying in vain to be penetrated deeper. He needed that cock, he needed it so much and he whined a bit when Haddock removed his fingers.  
"Ready for more?" he asked.

Szut could only nod, and grabbed the hollows of his knees to spread his legs wider still while Haddock administered lube to his cock, stroking himself back to full hardness.  
For a fleeting second he suddenly felt apprehensive. It would probably hurt a bit, he told himself. It had been awhile and that cock was on the girthy side.  
He felt the blunt cockhead, slick with lube, press and rub against his hole, he felt Haddock push in and the initial discomfort mingled with the pleasure of being filled completely out. His body remembered wonderfully soon.  
He ran his hands over Haddock's shoulders, once again enjoying the feel of the tensed muscles under his hands as the captain positioned himself. He pulled him down for a kiss and then let his hands travel down, down to the ass where he could feel the buttocks flex as the captain thrust into him. Grabbing them, he urged him on.  
He vaguely registered the pillow sliding off the bed with a soft 'thud' and the rhythmical creaking of the bed springs, but otherwise everything narrowed down to the cock inside him, the weight of the other man on top of him and the pleasure building inside him.  
While still clinging to Haddock with his left arm, he grabbed his own cock with his right hand. So close. So bloody close.

" _Jah, jah..._ " he moaned, vaguely aware the words spilling out of him were in Estonian, his mind unable to translate anything in this moment.  
Haddock leaned down and kissed his neck. The brush of beard against his own skin sent shivers down his spine and helped push him the last bit over the edge. With a choked groan he came, digging his fingers into Haddock's shoulders.  
The other man's movements were increasingly erratic and not long after he followed with a groan.

They lay there for a while, Haddock halfway on top of him. The captain seemed to doze off and Szut also felt rather drowsy, staring up at the ceiling. He could feel Haddock's chest and stomach touching his own as they both caught their breath, a sheen of sweat on their skin.  
He ought to get up. He really ought to. Get the pillow back in bed. Wash off. Slip back to his own room. He _really_ ought to.  
But when was the last time he'd been able to lie in post-coital bliss, feeling the steady breathing of the person lying on top of him? Years, if not close to a decade.  
A spicy smell of pipe tobacco wafted across his face as the captain shifted a bit closer. He'd had a lover once who'd smoked pipe as well. Szut didn't smoke himself and wouldn't be able to tell two brands of tobacco apart from each other.  
But for a moment he was brought back to Tallinn, to lying in Toomas' bed, like this, feeling timeless and invincible.  
And yet it wasn't the same at all – the tobacco mixed with the captain's cologne was something completely different, he himself was not the same as back then, so many things had changed.  
He breathed in, closing his eye. It was a very calming smell. He slowly drifted off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

For a moment Haddock felt confused as the sunlight hit his face. What was this bed he was in? Where was he? Then the night's events replayed in his mind. His sleep had been light and it almost felt like what had transpired had been a dream. But the arm encircling his waist and the warm body pressed against his back were definitely very, very real.  
He vaguely remembered waking up in the middle of the night and somehow pulling the covers over them both before turning off the light and drifting off to sleep again.  
He didn't remember picking up the pillow, though.  
It had been a while since he had last fucked someone. One should think there would be opportunities in some of the exotic localities he'd been to with Tintin the last couple of years. Except that those trips mostly seemed to consist of avoiding getting yourself and the lad killed.

Szut had caught his eye almost from the beginning. Apart from the obvious, physical aspect (what wasn't there to like in a tall, blond man with a lanky, yet athletic build?), Haddock had liked his personality.  
Earnest, wanting to do his best, trusting. His broken French had only reminded Haddock of his days sailing with crews consisting of men of all nationalities. It was charming, really, the way Szut sometimes seemed to be searching for the right word – only to end up picking one that was slightly off.

Haddock had felt a pang of disappointment the afternoon he and Tintin returned to their hotel in Wadesdah after giving statements to the authorities only to discover that Szut had left without a trace. He would've liked to say a proper goodbye.  
It wasn't every day he met capable men he wanted to keep around. Of course, there was Tintin.  
Lord knew the boy was accomplished at many things, and Haddock wasn't blind for the fact that he'd grown into a handsome young man.

But that was exactly _it_. Whenever he looked at Tintin he was reminded of the skinny, little boy who had referred to him as "my friend" after knowing him for a full day and a half. Who would instinctively reach for his arm for comfort if startled.  
Who was suddenly an adolescent with pimples across his forehead, fighting to keep his voice from breaking at inopportune moments.  
And who was one day a young man with the first, downy hints of stubble on his chin. Whom Haddock had shown how to hold a razor and how to avoid nicking yourself – and what you'd do if the shaving foam, despite all your care, turned pink from a cut anyway.

But Szut. He'd thought he'd never see him again, and it had been a more than pleasant surprise to literally fall into his arms in Jakarta.  
And that the feelings had been _that_ mutual had been more than what he'd dared to hope for. No, that running into Szut again had meant ending up in bed with a very willing Estonian was not what he could have foreseen, back then in Jakarta.  
He carefully turned around. The bed was definitely not made to accommodate two grown men.

Szut appeared to still be asleep.  
The usually neatly combed hair was rather messy and the eye patch had moved a little. He could see a bit of scarred skin and felt both curious and like he was seeing something he wasn't allowed to.  
It was strange. He had met plenty of men over the years who'd suffered injuries at sea. For instance he'd lost count of how many men with missing fingers or fingertips he'd met. Fragile things, fingers, really. But missing eyes were uncommon – and he was certain Szut hadn't lost his eye in any old accident. Perhaps that was why it felt so intimate to see a glimpse of the scarred skin he kept hidden under the patch.  
How old was Szut, anyway? He looked younger now than when they'd dragged him onto the raft a few years ago. Not being a mercenary seemed beneficial for one's aging.  
And being peacefully asleep like this made him look even younger. Obviously not as young as Tintin, but definitely a good deal younger than Haddock.

Unlike La Castafiore, whose darker eyebrows betrayed that her platinum-blonde locks weren't the colour she was born with, Szut actually was blond. His eyebrows, the light eyelashes, the stubble – all was as blond as the hair on his head. Of course there were blondes in Belgium but it had been awhile since Haddock been as up close with someone as fair-haired as him..  
He focused on Szut's cheekbones. He really wanted to run his fingers over them but on the other hand he didn't want to wake the other man up.

While contemplating his next move, Szut's eye fluttered open. For a second he also looked a little confused, then cleared his throat. "Good morning, Captain."

"Morning." On a sudden impulse Haddock moved closer for a kiss. It was meant as a peck, but it quickly deepened.  
"Your eye patch has moved a bit," he pointed out as they broke the kiss.

Szut adjusted it. "Thank you, Captain."

"How come you're wearing one, anyway?" Haddock asked.

Szut's face lost some of the relaxed youthfulness. "Shrapnel," he answered quickly, quietly. "During war, I was shot down. I did spent last months of war in hospital."

"Can I see it?" Haddock asked. He didn't know what possessed him to ask that. Usually he wasn't the prying sort. But in a way he felt he had to see it. He wanted to share in whatever it was Szut had been through.

"But it not looks good, Captain. And I not want you to see me as the cripple."

He put his arm around Szut's shoulder. "There's no 'cripple' about you, missing eye or not."

Szut still didn't look entirely convinced, yet he began removing the patch.  
"But I warn you, Captain. It's not good."  
He was right, yet not, Haddock thought.  
The skin was indeed scarred and it was eerie seeing the closed lid, knowing there was nothing underneath it.

He nodded. "Does it still hurt?"

Szut shook his head. "No, the pain did went away when eye was removed."  
He sat up to better put the patch back on. "And surgeons were very effective. They manage to remove all shrapnel. But," he continued, looking out at the room, "then war ended and RAF had no need for foreign pilots with the missing body parts. So, they gave a pat on the head and say thank you and sent us off."  
His shoulders slumped a bit, as if reliving the events were painful. Haddock began regretting having asked him about this. 

"So, that's when you became a...a mercenary?"

Szut was quiet for a moment. "No, not immediate. The first years I not fly. It was not easy to live. I try get other work, at least houses needed rebuilding for instance. But, sometimes I also did other things to earn the money."

Haddock had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what he was referring to. He felt that whatever he would say would be inadequate, so instead he just sat up and patted his back.  
"But at least the war's long over."

Szut nodded and leaned against his shoulder. "It is, and I have the proper work now. I feel very lucky."  
This time it was he who kissed Haddock.

*

They ended up lying down again, kissing more intensely, the covers pushed out of the way.  
Szut was straddling him and Haddock slid his hands down Szut's back, to his ass, cupping it and giving it a squeeze while rubbing Szut's abdomen and cock against his own.  
He could feel himself getting hard, trapped underneath Szut. He, on the other hand, was already fully erect.  
There was a hunger in their kissing that surprised Haddock. Like they both wanted to get as much out of this while they had the chance.

'Calm down, old boy' he tried telling himself as Szut began pressing kisses down the side of his neck.  
'We still have a couple of conference days left here. Plenty of time for more of this.'  
He reached down between them and began stroking Szut. That really was a nice cock he'd been blessed with, Haddock thought.

He swallowed as a thought began forming in his mind. His build, stature and rank hadn't made it difficult for him to find men willing to spread their legs for him over the years – quite the contrary.  
But finding someone who wanted to do him, on the other hand, _that_ proved a challenge. He hoped that Szut wasn't one of those who only wanted to be penetrated.

Szut sat up and leaned back, giving Haddock a full view of his body, a somewhat mischievous glint in his eye. Haddock felt his own cock throb as Szut rocked gently back and forth a bit.

"You really are sailor, Captain, with those tattoos," he panted.

Feeling he was running a risk, but doing it anyway, Haddock replied, "Then wait 'til you see my back."

The mischief in Szut's eye spread to his face when he smirked down at Haddock. "And how am I see your back?"

Haddock stroked Szut's cock a few times, watching the foreskin roll back and forth and a drop of precome glistening at the tip. Szut bit back a moan.  
"Well, landlubber, I was wondering if that cock of yours would feel as nice in my ass as it did in my mouth last night?"

There. It was out. Szut was breathing heavily now. "Only one way to find out, _Captain_ ," he moaned, then leaned foward and nibbled at a spot right under Haddock's ear.  
"But what _is_ landlubber, actually?" he asked as he reached for the lubricant left on the bedside table.

"It's...it's someone who's not a sailor," Haddock replied, following Szut's movements with his gaze.

"Ah, I see. Thank you for clarification," Szut said as he carefully worked the first finger into Haddock.

**

Tintin had slept terribly. He'd tried for an early night because he'd felt a headache approaching. But once in bed he'd not been able to find rest. Every time he tried to close his eyes the mystery of the missing time kept replaying. That and the weird fragments of stifling heat, carved stone masks and underground chambers.

When he was almost drifting off to sleep, the rhythmic creak of a bed had begun. It wasn't the first time he'd experienced that in a hotel somewhere, but it was the first time he'd noticed _that_ sound from the captain's room. Which opened up a whole range of scenarios he'd rather not dwell too much on. When that had finally been over, he'd tossed and turned. Then the covers were too warm, then it was too cold to lie on top of them. Then the pillow was too flat. Then too lumpy. And then, in the early hours, he'd begun feeling hungry.

Finally, finally he'd drifted off to an uneasy sleep.  
And then the rhythmic sound of the bed creaking began again.


End file.
